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the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull

and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation

I would not remember you

or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these

and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops

a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight
ISSAI MASHINGO Jul 2014
When brothers go to war there are no captives/
When brothers go to war we find only casualties/
The in explicable war between Palestine and Israel,/
In this poem i hope that peace would prevail/
Countries at the crossroads of heaven and hell/
Their war has lasted for ages/
Pain and revenge bitterness and hate/
When brothers go to war who dares to mediate/
Who knows of their fate who knows whose right/
Its bee like this for so many years/
Who will be there to wipe their tears/
Who will be there to give hope to those in fear/
Who will dare to go and interfere/
When brothers go to war know that the end is near/
Hold on and sanctify your soul in prayer/
When brothers go to war who is the villain who is the saint/
The war of Israel and Palestine stained in red paint/
A revelation to the faint hearted/
A lesson to the boastful and egocentric/
Innocent lives lost when brothers go to war/
A gentle answer turns away wrath/
But a harsh word stirs up anger/
A hot tempered man stirs up dissension/
But a patient man calms a quarrel/
When brothers go to war who dares mediate
(c) ISSAI
for the war within!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Can I explain this to you? Your eyes
are entrances the mouths of caves
I issue from wonderful interiors
upon a blessed sea and a fine day,
from inside these caves I look and dream.

Your hair explicable as a waterfall
in some black liquid cooled by legend
fell across my thought in a moment
became a garment I am naked without
lines drawn across through morning and evening.

And in your body each minute I died
moving your thigh could disinter me
from a grave in a distant city:
your ******* deserted by cloth, clothed in twilight
filled me with tears, sweet cups of flesh.

Yes, to touch ******* made us worlds
stars, waters, promontories, chaos
swooning in elements without form or time
come down through long seas among sea marvels
embracing like survivors in our islands.

This I think happened to us together
though now no shadow of it flickers in your hands
your eyes look down on ordinary streets
If I talk to you I might be a bird
with a message, a dead man, a photograph.
Àŧùl Dec 2016
Wish life was at least as explicable as The HMM,

But alas! It's even more complex.

You may understand The HMM one day,

But not your life and interactions.

In probability & statistics,
A Markov chain or Markoff chain or a Markov Process,
Named after the Russian mathematician Andrey Markov,
Is a stochastic process that satisfies the Markov property
And is usually characterized as "memorylessness".

Imagine an urn experiment with replacement,
Hidden Markov Model can be visualized likewise.

Consider a hidden room with a genie inside,
The room has N urns with n ***** in each.


The genie chooses an urn in that room,
He randomly draws a ball from the urn.

He then puts the ball onto a conveyor belt,
Which is being observed for the sequence,
Only the ***** on the conveyor are visible,
Not the urns from which they were drawn.

The genie has a procedure to choose urns,
The choice of the urn for the n-th ball,
It depends only upon a random number,
And the choice of the urn for the (n − 1)-th ball.

The choice of urn does not directly depend on
The urns chosen before this single previous urn;
Therefore, this is called a Markov process.


*Hidden Markov models model complex Markov processes,
Where the states emit the observations according to a distribution.
One such example is a Gaussian distribution,
In such a Hidden Markov Model,
The state's output are represented by a Gaussian distribution.
References: Wikipedia.

A Hidden Markov Model (HMM) is a statistical Markov model in which the system being modelled is assumed to be a Markov process with unobserved (hidden) states. An HMM can be presented as the simplest dynamic Bayesian network.

For revising an important topic from bioinformatics.

HP Poem #1298
©Atul Kaushal
min-i Sep 2011
the other me
the other you
so natural || parallel grazing... like soft kisses under cool sheets
never have touched, yet can tickle so much, again, again, experience the other explicable and envigorating, so much that the _ just can't be contained/pressed/expressed truly in simple written words.
goosebumps, held breath, who would have thought simple presence could see & show & feel so much
so nervous, so anxious, so amazed, so curious, yum - it builds - this tension
such T.O... even if this other us will never meet on this side of the reflection, it's okay.
there's no off-switch it seems... and i love all that it is and i love All that it is.

the things to do to say to feel, so unreal and so-su-re-al
if there is such thing as an un-provable-un-disprovable bond/natural affinities/of us;
no motive, no agenda, yet muted from any role other than to Be...  impossibly, but possibly
the other you
the other me

3:02 AM 9/23/2011
10/06/2012
I76+5quaddub ymbapom
Catherine Rand Jan 2010
Crinkled and knotted,
Your mind pushes far beyond the last
Fluid dimension of thought.
Words and images
****** out, crossed out, and beaten.
Their meaning disentangled
From the syllables they’re bound to.
Stretched,
Pulled,
Prodded,
Poked,
Rolled,
And torn open.
Mile by mile, down a endless road,
Making no explicable progress.
Broken and battered,
Words, attempting equilibrium,
Burn off energy enough to care.
The unthinkable dread of empty canvas
Impedes on the black and white tile
That clangs too loudly
For reason to be heard.
Inspiration becomes an
Agonizing, ever-twisting labyrinth.
The climactic moment drawn out too far,
Centuries too far,
Tortures and torments you,
Tears you to pieces
Until, at last, you
Are indistinguishable from
The pain you’ve offered,
The discomfort you’ve endured,
The itch you’ve tolerated.
And the balance finally restores itself.
Rights you just at the point of ultimate collision,
Lets you steal a breath,
Before the next thought starts to pull.
Lunar Jul 2017
As the evergreen's last leaf falls off,
memories come in flashes,
and I really hate it when
the memory of you comes back.

My mind turns to the scene
where you saw her with an explicable way;
like she's your one.

I was your shining star,
but now she's your sunshine.
I know that night might one day pass,
yet I never knew the sun would rise this soon.

Our heart didn't beat as one anymore
as you found another heart that
beats more beautiful than mine.

You used to love me
like I was the only girl in this universe,
You used to treat me
like I was a princess and you were the prince.

Yet I was never your princess, wasn't I?
I was only daydreaming about us, a future us.
And it's such a pain to wake up
in a reality that we are now strangers.

I often told you that,
I love you with all my life
and I want us together till death do us apart.
And you told me so

"You know how much I love your, right?", you asked
I was too innocent, thinking that you really love me.
I loved you too much,
and by that you start treating me
like I could never leave you,
like I was an option,
like I was a ****,
and because of that, I began to doubt.

You know what?
I just found out that
love has the expiration date,
and remembering about
how long has it been since you said that thing,
it now makes sense


I prayed for your happiness,
and if happy means you and her
I'm happy for you.
Mathew Kohnen Jul 2019
Today I saw a flower,
A rose,
I did not look at the rose,
I saw the rose.
A yellow rose just opened,
The petals straight in a spiral,
Slightly flared at the tips.
“Beautiful” is subjective,
Who am I to label the rose?
Seeing the rose,
The intricacy of creation,
An explicable force,
That formed the rose,
That formed me.
I was filled with wonder.
Awe,
A sense of belonging
All this I would have missed
If I looked at the rose.
Marrion Kiprop Aug 2016
A dream is a gushing rarity
Throbbing in explicable clarity.
It stretches the walls of imagination
To seamless leaps of pulsate stagnation.

It blows in a raging flight
Racing blindly upon each bend.
A prism to a faulty sight
To see  the beginning  from end.

It cuffs the voice of reason
And frees the mind from prison
To hover and graciously be blown
Forth vast wonderlands unknown.

It tricks the heart to please
And be happy in vanity.
That the sorrows  cease
And we awe in queer insanity.
This is for all dreamers. Find your path in the embrace of your mind.
David Omodunmiju Jul 2015
Some say He’s invisible
Though we all know He’s invincible
His breath alone parted the sea
Well, He’s Jehovah nissi

Three in one, one in three
You’ve got Him, you’re free
His thought alone makes me the opposite of sad
Thinking too deep of Him could even run one mad

He’s as big as, the earth is barely His foot stool
Still could be as small as, speaking through you
Unspeakable is His power
He sees a thousand years as an hour
He brings out mighty trees from little seeds
From human to ants, He feeds

How big could His brain be?
That He knows the numbers of our hair
How deep could He see?
That He reads our thoughts so bare and clear

His being is the meaning of holiness
His breath is called faithfulness
Holy, holy, angels keep calling
In His presence, all knees helplessly falling

Through His fear, Wisdom is born
Therefore to all glory should return
His mercy brings me into better days
His love is spoken to me in different ways

His ways makes me speechless
His works, clean, explicable, and faultless
On both good and evil He shines His sun
Still for both, He sent His son

Mountains and oceans flee at His anger
Yet He never forgets His position as the Father
He delights in making good things better
Since He’s Jehovah ralpha

Two things I can’t comprehend is
He was, He is, and still yet to come
Yet He unconditionally loves someone like me
He sure defines ALMIGHTY.

                                                                                                            - David Omodunmiju
Butch Decatoria May 2016
First the shuffling of the deck:

Major and minor arcanas face down on a thin cloth of silk, with both hands whirl and swirl about the cards, as how one shifts around tiles of dominoes, circular like. (Chaos spirals like galaxies of stars, as like most habits running us and our reality in circles.) Gather the splayed cards back into one deck, and place the hand of whom will beg the question on that pile of cards. Once the query is uttered out, from left to right, from God to mouth, spread the cards like feathers-- plumage off the wing. Thereafter have the one in question choose with mindful heart, the three choice cards: the Past, Present, & most probable of Yet to Be's, knowing oneself will behave accordingly to what will be (and here, how it now is seen.)


(1 Spread)

THE HANGMAN.
THE  MAGICIAN.
THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE.

(2 Spread)
THE ACE OF SWORDS.
THE HERMIT.
THE CHARIOT.

(3 Spread)
THE TOWER.
THE QUEEN OF CUPS.
THE SUN.


''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''

(1 Spread - The Explicable Explanation)

THE HANGMAN. (The Past)
     How strange this estranged Arcane card should be the first, rather than last (its value of Zero presumed for the end) - it's illustrated depiction is that of a fool or dolt of man hanging upside down from the right foot while his left leg bends at the knee--oddly a numerical shape of 4, upside down. (In Orient Numerology, the #4 presumably has ties connected to death, therefore is viewed as a bad-luck number, how things soon will badly end with this symbol being around).
     Since this card is motivated by no other but its own significance, beginning the whole deck with the end of this fool's sacrificed existence, then it's value of zero has no importance, yet it's very meaning on the value of life makes it the only one above the rest. It is the ultimate trump card, and symbolizes Man's self sacrifice for nothing of monetary value but for another, for life, or for anyone or anything outside of themselves, above all else.
     In this position of *past
and having only one card to paint a view of the query's life, days of yore before the now, it is as clear a picture as if it were a Polaroid. The one in question, the individual who begs the questions in this reading, has given much away to everyone else but him/herself, a selfless simpleton naive of the truth behind the faces that wear the curtain of his blind love. Happily obliged and worked hard at pleasing everyone, being ****** dry of chi from familiar vampires of family and serial friendships.
     Now it is has taken its toll, shaping this human being to whom he/she is now, having wasted much of one's self and one's time -- having neglected to experience much else of one's Experience. Yet like most who are invariably linked to tapestry of the Universe, we learn and awaken from our unknowing sleep, to feel and see and breathe much more of this existence we cannot deny--life... The past reminds and remembers, when the chaos and its pains make us forget, its your life, your journey, pay close mind and be attentive, there's no rewind or do overs, if there were--just say "know."

Live like your in the photos not the one snapping pictures.

'''''''
PJ Poesy Apr 2016
You have yet to fabulously flutter
My pupae of frozen adores
Stricken are you to utter
How from larvae to insect, one matures
Pain of stages you must endure

For as you were once caterpillar
Such simplicity of infancy
Mother butterfly placed near daffodil a
Miraculous plan of decency
Life arranged in such complexities

Little do you know, surprising?
Welcoming event so explicable
How wondrous wings of this uprising
Nature joyful and formidable
Your glory so perfectly permissible

Truly a divine intervention
From chrysalis a manifesting
These plans have set emotion
How Mother Nature has been testing
Longevity of ****** investing

She flutters on and you have come
Launching momentous occasion
Your time is near, you have become
An allure of life’s suasion
Flutter on, flutter on, all love’s persuasion
Aditya Roy Jul 2019
I don't like honors
It just doesn't appeal to me
That such a surreal feeling of recognition
Is attributed to such intense hard work and innovation
I don't like honors
It puts on the pedestal of human achievement
Whereas, my work is meant for the few, who arrive at it
I don't like honors
It doesn't do me good to biased towards my own
Qualifications
That's why I love contributing
Because it gives me peace in this pensive mind searching for the end
Of the vast tunnel of possibilities, where questions are answered
And answered questions are an explicable form of logic
Contributing is a logician's ebullient dream
Because this hand is meant for forgiving and not taking
I guess that's why we have the sun set on a place too far
I guess that's why we have a fascination for the beautiful
Because it helps us understand ourselves better
And feel connected with our own art and creation
I don't like honors
It makes me feel like a destroyer of doubt
Rather than the creator of fascination and amazement
We have sullied the atomic bomb
Time for us to bring up our arms in rebarbative rebellion
"Any man whose errors take ten years to correct is quite a man."- Oppenheimier
Kewayne Wadley Feb 2018
With rough hands, she was the only thing that made them soft.
New experiences protected by their roughness.
The orbit of her body their center.
They kept her safe.
She admired their scars.
Their courage to love as they did.
To properly deflect the asteroids that threatened her orbit.
To hold a fire such as she.
Their standards high, lifting her high above.
An explicable star shooting across the sky.
With hands like a fortress.
They cherished every sunrise of her smile.
For all that she is.
She is blissfully unaware
Livia Rose Aug 2017
He can only be described as the universe

Unfathomable
Untouchable

The thought is atrocious                                
For I miss him so                                            
I thrived on his touch                                    
Now I bask in a dream of him                      

Explicable
Tangible

Yet he remains as the universe must
Le « sort » fantasque qui me gâte à sa manière -

M'a logé cette fois, peut-être la dernière

Et la dernière c'est la bonne - à l'hôpital !

De mon rêve à ceci le réveil est brutal

Mais explicable par le fait d'une voleuse

(Dont l'histoire posthume est, dit-on, graveleuse)

Du fait d'un rhumatisme aussi, moindre détail ;

Puis d'un gîte où l'on est qu'importe le portail ?

J'y suis, j'y vis. « Non, j'y végète », on rectifie ;

On se trompe. J'y vis dans le strict de la vie,

Le pain qu'il faut, pas trop de vin, et mieux couché !

Évidemment j'expie un très ancien péché

(Très ancien ?) dont mon sang a des fois la secousse,

Et la pénitence est relativement douce

Dans le martyrologe et sur l'armorial

Des poètes, peut-être un peu proverbial.

C'est un lieu comme un autre, on en prend l'habitude:

A prison bonne enfant longanime Latude.

Sans compter qu'au rimeur, pour en parler, alors !

Pauvre et fier, il ne reste qu'à mourir dehors

Ou tout comme, en ces temps vraiment trop peu propices.

Et mourir pour mourir. Muse qui me respices,

Autant le faire ici qu'ailleurs, et même mieux,

Sinon qu'ici l'on est tout « laïque », les vieux

Abus sont réformés et le « citoyen » libre !

Et fort ! doit, ou l'État perdrait son équilibre,

Avec ça qu'il n'est pas à cheval sur un pall !

Mourir dans les bras du Conseil Municipal,

Mal rassurante et pas assez édifiante

Conclusion pour tel, qu'un vœu mystique hante

Moi par exemple, j'en forme l'aveu sans fard,

Me dût-on traiter d'âne ou d'impudent cafard,

La conversation, dans ce modeste asile,

Ne m'est pas autrement pénible et difficile !

Ces braves gens, que le Journal rend un peu sots,

Du moins ont conservé, malgré tous les assauts

Que « l'Instruction » livre à leur tête obsédée ;

Quelque saveur encor de parole et d'idée ;

La Révolution, qu'il faut toujours citer

Et condamner, n'a pu complètement gâter

Leur trivialité non sans grâce et sincère.

Même je les préfère aux mufles de ma sphère

Certes ! et je subis leur choc sans trop d'émoi.

Leur vice et leur vertu sont juste à point pour moi

Les goûter et me plaire en ces lieux salutaires

(A comme moi) des espèces de solitaires,

Espèce de couvent moins cet espoir chrétien !

Le monde est tel qu'ici je n'ai besoin de rien

Et que j'y resterais, ma foi, toute ma vie,

Sans grands jaloux, j'espère, et pour sûr, sans envie !

Si, dès guéri, si je guéris, car tout se peut,

Je n'avais quelque chose à faire, que Dieu veut.
Fraught traumatized wordsmith
telephonic grand slam rent psyche asunder
witnessing helpless cannibalization,
hospitalization, victimization
concerning writer of these words,
and riders on the storm
namely robbing me third eye blind
of legal tender
under the convincing guise of Apple
computer technician pretender.

Buried deep inside
the dark webbed wide world
yours truly sends electronic sos
while being twirled
to and fro hither and yon
seeking emotional, mental,
and spiritual reprieve.

Incalculable loss of
countless crisp Benjamins
hungrily ****** up
and spit out as Bitcoin cryptocurrency
triggered stark realization
being under wicked spell
of one who calls himself Harvey Specter.

He cast a trance
upon body electric of mine
asking, coaxing, finagling,
ingeniously luring me to forfeit
every ****** red cent
constituting checking and savings accounts
two of each now registering zeros.

Quite an exhausting effort
taxing body, mind, and spirit
to wrench unhealthy vice grip
from out the analogous maws
adrip with ****** flesh.

No explicable rhyme nor reason,
how sense and sensibility
got blindsighted, when ordinarily
keen acute insight
can scent out immoral treason,
nevertheless when cruising cyber seas
late morning June twenty first
and also the twenty second
human piranha unexpectedly
found fresh **** in season.

Dumbfounded at mein kampf now
how stupid of me to surrender
blithely, forthrightly, willingly
thousands of dollars
as if held spellbound
under a somnambulant trance.

I keep reliving, requisitioning
and revisiting hellish nightmare
corporeal entity
waking up in a cold sweat
although dog tired
muster measly necessary energy
to summon sleepwalking
disembodied spirit
quietly whetting appetite

to succeed realization
bringing to fruition
impossible mission to catch thief
finally hatching pièce de résistance
witnessing long overdue comeuppance
to him who exploited innocence
of one aging beatle brow
foo fighting baby boomer
reduced to pennilessness.

Ye dear benevolent reader
might be tempted to rebuke or scold
(spare the rod, cuz I give myself
a regular severe dressing down)
merely seeking, praying,
and kick/jump starting
philanthropic aid forthcoming.

Unlikely culprit(s) will be caught
most likely rejoicing regarding
psyche of fraught
punishing me where
rainy day fund rendered naught.
Nat Lipstadt Aug 19
“ When it comes to theology, philosophy
and the mystery of human relationships,
not knowing is a value I cherish.
But now, with so many lives at stake,
I’m finding it excruciating.
Jay Michaelson
February 23, 2024

<>
Certainty,
h a s
certainly transmogrified
into
delusion.

the irony is neither lost nor found,
but it is profound.

when  the delusional,
are certitudinal,
what is criminal
is
logical explicable,
because it's explainable.

I know
you know
what
I know,
and I
am certifiably
certain
you will
agree.

only the delusional
now
believe
certitude
is decipherable & deliverable,
ain’t that just
crazy
Wk kortas Oct 2020
That thing of varied tangibility,
Be it the West or the frontier or whatever,
Has long since gone a-gleaming,
The time when it was still proper
To pay ones respects
Having passed beyond memory itself,
Those phenomena so elemental,
So deeply interwoven in our days and fates
They were bestowed monickers of their own
Now simple chemical reactions and natural curiosities
Familiar and easily explicable,
Yet as we apprehend those still, starlit skies
Which engendered such wonder in our forebearers,
Our understanding of the heavens
Has not left us any less lonely or forsaken
Than those sad men on horseback
Who whispered a name plaintively into the zephyr.
Arlene Corwin Jun 2020
It’s Always A Long Road

It has been said,
It is a long, long road ahead
To where you want the road to lead,
The bed you lie in’s one you’ve made.

Not glad to be pedestrian,
Let’s hope that what you want is of significance,
The highest of your competence.

How easily we’re pleased with less;
The choice that leads from bad to worse.
Tychism’s doctrine* has its flaws;
Life not just chance and not just chaos.
Things have causes and effects
Projecting further cause/effects.

With little place for accidental luck
Or good/bad providential fluke.
It’s what you do with what’s been given
That’s the recipe for living.

In the visibly explicable,
Choice is faintly recognizable.
The road will never fail to be a trail
That defies portrayal.

It’s Always A Long Road 2.5.2020 Circling Round Experience; Definitely Didactic II; Arlene Nover Corwin

*Tychism: the doctrine that account must be taken of the element of chance in reasoning or explanation of the universe

— The End —